Mr. Stewart felt curious about this Mrs. Dudley, whose husband so decidedly refused to speak of her. Miss Baldwin had been by no means so reticent. She had described Heather to her cousin, and told him all about the brothers and sisters who used to run wild before the young wife’s arrival at Berrie Down. Lally also was not left out of the narrative. “The sweetest little creature in the world,” the Honourable Augusta declared; “just the child you would love, Mr. Stewart.” “I never saw the child I loved yet,” said the old bachelor, somewhat incredulously, “and I do not think I ever shall.” Notwithstanding this speech, however, Mr. Stewart had been secretly touched by Miss Baldwin’s description of mother and child, which description caused him to form a mental picture of Mrs. Dudley that did not exactly frame in the setting Arthur now provided for her. “Is this fellow such a weak fool as to be envious of his wife,” thought the director; “or is there really some flaw in his pearl of which the little world of South Kemms is not cognisant?” Mr. Stewart could not understand his companion’s domestic relations, so he thought he would try him on another tack—his children. “I heard something, when I was at Kemms Park, about your little girl having met with an accident,” he began. “Yes, she fell into that mill-pond at the bottom of my farm, and was nearly drowned,” Arthur replied, shortly. “She has been very ill since that, though, has she not?” asked Mr. Stewart, who was beginning to think his visitor carried his ideas of politeness a little too far. “Very ill; but she is now out of danger.” “Do you think of bringing her up to town?” “That will be a question for her mother to decide.” “Was there ever such a prig before!” thought the director; but he said out loud, “Then you take nothing to do with such minor matters?” “Nothing,” answered Arthur, decidedly; “my wife has had a vast amount of anxiety concerning the child, and I should not like to interfere; though, I should think,” added the Squire, “that if once we could get her up to London and under better medical treatment, she would soon be well again.” “Why do you not take a doctor down to see her?” asked Mr. Stewart. “The expense,” murmured his guest. “True, I had forgotten,” said the director apologetically; but while he meditatively finished his tea, he remembered the money Arthur had advanced to Mr. Black, and spent uselessly on the purchase of the house he now proposed occupying. “I presume that, whether or not Mrs. Dudley come to town at once, you can enter on the duties of your new post immediately?” Mr. Stewart said, at length. “Certainly; if my wife be afraid of leaving home, one of my sisters must come up and keep house for me.” “You have sisters, then?” This was enough; that question speedily loosened Arthur’s tongue; on that portion of his family history he was never—the chance of speaking being given to him—dumb.